


The Parent Trap

by aseriesofolafevents



Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, I hope this isn't too confusing, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Slow Burn, lyra is a twin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24063928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseriesofolafevents/pseuds/aseriesofolafevents
Summary: In which Lyra and her twin sister Carina have been kept apart their entire lives, neither knowing the other exists, one belonging to their Father and one to their Mother. It works perfectly, the desired protocol to ensue that Marisa Delamere and Asriel Belacqua never have to lay eyes on each other ever again. Because the chances of their children ever crossing paths is next to impossible, right? Almost. When Lyra and Carina meet by chance at summer camp that neither wanted to attend, they hatch a creative plan to bring their parents back into each other's lives, one that involves a swapping of places.ORA Parent Trap AU
Relationships: Lord Asriel & Lyra Belacqua, Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter, Lyra Belacqua & Marisa Coulter, Marisa Coulter & Marcel Delamare
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	1. Camp Abandoned

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, okay so I really couldn't tell you where I got the idea for this, but it popped into my head nonetheless. I've only really written one-shots/short fics for this fandom and I have a small feeling that this could be a long one soooo I guess buckle up pals! I removed the daemons from the story with much hesitation, purely because I thought it would cause too many problems and plot holes! In this AU, the scandal never really took place and instead Asriel and Marisa just had a heated fight and allowed their pride to get the best of them. I hope you enjoy and please comment and kudos to let me know any suggestions or feelings about this fic! X

“But WHY?”

It was nearing the sixteenth or seventeenth time of asking the exact same question and Lyra was preparing for an explosion, to say the least. 

In fact, if she was to be truthful, she would have to admit that she herself was getting tired of asking the exact same question, over and over again and so, if she had any sense of pity for her Father left in her, she might have begun to feel guilty for the guaranteed headache she was inducing. 

But, as it so happened, all remnants of pity for her Father had been wiped of her, the second he’d made the fateful announcement less than half an hour ago. So she continued.

“I said,” She stomped her foot a little this time, quite aware of the fact that she was acting as though she was only five years of age, rather than eleven and a half. “But, WHY?” She placed her hands on her hips and stood sturdy, trying to show her fierce defiance.

Her Father, however, hardly looked up from his work bench, where he was currently pouring over a manuscript which he held in one hand, a small odd looking contraption in the other, whilst holding a screwdriver in his mouth. 

After eleven and a half years of taking care of his daughter, Asriel Belacqula would have liked to believe that his patience had come on leaps and bounds, yet Lyra, who knew exactly which buttons to press, would beg to differ. Yet, in this time of great annoyance, he somehow was managing to maintain his cool, desperately trying to give all his attention to the broken artifact in his hand and ignore the small girl and tiger cat intruding in his workshop.

Taking the screwdriver out of his mouth, he eventually gave Lyra a lazy glance, the traces of a smirk on his lips as he told her, “Because I said so.”

Lyra scowled, a great huff escaped her as she strolled around his work surface, determined to invade his space and force him to listen to her. There was no way she was giving into what he was suggesting. “Why do parents always say ‘Because I said so’?” She sighed, hoisting herself up onto his work bench, ignoring his pleas of ‘Mind the books’ and settling in a position that was comfortable for her. “It’s not a real answer. It’s just proving that they’re in charge and we aren’t. I find it quite rude, actually.”

“Do you really?” Asriel almost grinned, quite amused. “Well, should I explain it to you again?” 

Lyra rolled her eyes. “I think I understand the concept of the issue, the reasoning, however is becoming a little bit hard to grasp.” She picked up an odd shaped tool, twizzling it around on her finger, knowing that something like this would tip her Father over the age.

As if predicted, Asriel practically snatched the tool out of her hand, easily lifting Lyra off the work surface and placing her down, beside him, to look her square in the eyes, remaining in his chair so their eyes were level.

“Well Smarty-Pants let me explain the concept and reasoning to you, just so we’re both clear.” Lyra bit her lip to hide the smile that was bubbling against her lips; winding Father up was admittedly one of her favourite pastimes. Asriel leant back in his seat, as if squaring her up and Lyra knew that he knew exactly what she was doing and was half-annoyed at himself for giving in and half-proud of her stubborn nature. “This summer, I am going to the North for the entire six weeks of school break and therefore there is no one to take care of you. Instead of letting you squandor around the Manor for the next six weeks getting into who knows what trouble, I, being the responsible parent I try to be-” Lyra raised an eyebrow, “-am paying sickening amounts of money to spend you and your bratty little self to the best summer camp the country has to offer. Now to many children, normal children, this might induce excitement and maybe even a ‘Thank you Father, I appreciate it Father’ but from you it warrants a-”

“Thank you Father, I appreciate it Father.” Lyra interrupted, wide innocent eyes looking up at her Father as she put on her most angelic expression, vocal tones laced with honey. It was the voice she usually saved for her teachers, when trying to get out of whatever scandal she had found herself in. 

Asriel blinked twice, in surprise, running a hand through his hair. “Well then, if that’s sort-”

But Lyra wasn’t finished. “I just don’t understand,” She began, eliciting a groan from Asriel, who began rubbing his temples and showing that the headache had come slightly quicker than expected. “Why can't I stay at Jordan with Roger for the entire summer. The Master would be more than happy to have me, he said so himself. Plus, I’d be somewhere you know, so you wouldn’t even have to worry, and I could come home and feed the fish every other day.

“Thorold will feed the fish.” Asriel replied, bluntly.

Lyra pulled a face. “He feeds them the gross stuff that makes their stomach funny. Need I remind you of last summer? Margery didn’t eat the entire time and when I came home from Jordan she was lying dead at the bottom of the tank.” She raised an eyebrow at her Father. “I’m not making that mistake again.”

Asriel leant forward, raising an eyebrow of his own, his tone becoming dangerous. “Need I remind you of what YOU did last summer?” He asked Lyra, who took her own turn to shrink back, her cheeks colouring slightly.  
“It wasn’t that bad.” She muttered under her breath, her eyes shifting to the side to try and find something to settle on, anything but her Father, that was, whose gaze was unmerciful. Her fingers played nervously with a whole in her jumper.

“You stole a boat, Lyra.” He half-laughed, eyes wide with disbelief. When said incident had happened, he’d been angry, as expected, but Lyra had also found that, after a week or so of cooling down, he’d begun to find the whole event, rather funny and now, everytime it was brought up or mentioned, he couldn’t hide the glint of pride which flashed in his eyes.

“Borrowed is the term I prefer to use.” Lyra attempted, shrugging her shoulders as her mind drifted back to the look on Tony Costa’s face as he watched the Jordan lot sail away on his house-boat, Lyra Belacqula at the very center, their fearless leader. It had been one of the best moments of her life.

“You tried to sink it, Lyra.” Asriel reasoned, as she continued to avoid his glare.

“But, I didn’t.” She offered him a half smile, daring to look at him, once more. She felt her confidence resurge. “Gyptian boats are famously hard to sink.”

“This!” Asriel exclaimed, waving a hand at her as if there was an audience in the room. “Is why I can’t leave you at Jordan this Summer. We had a deal; if you behaved, I wouldn’t send you to camp this summer. You didn’t behave, so it’s Camp Walden for you.”

Lyra fought the urge to roll her eyes, instead staring at her feet. “More like Camp Abandoned.” She whispered under her breath, more for her own personal relief than anything else. Her Father either ignored it, or did not hear.

“Now run along and play outside, so I can get on with my work.” Asriel ordered, turning back to his work bench, with what Lyra took as her dismissal. She hurried out, already trying to plan how she would break the bad news to Roger. 

“And for Mercy’s sake, please don’t steal anymore boats!” 

*********************************************************  
“Come in!”

Carina Delamere made her way into her Mother’s study, praying that the reasons for her summons were good and not wanting to think about them if they weren’t. She scanned her brain for all the bad things she had done over the last fortnight and couldn’t think of anything terrible, or at least not anything worthy of a study summon, which was a once in a blue moon event. Her Mother didn’t work that often and she was around the majority of the time, meaning that they spent a lot of time together and therefore, when her Mother was in her study she usually knew to stay away and let her get work done. Study summons only happened when she’d done something truly terrible, or if a relative has died. Right now, Carina hoped for the latter.

“Hello darling,” Her mother greeted her warmly, placing her pen down with a flourish and leaning back in her chair, running a single hand over her hair so it sat, lazily. Carina was reminded, as she quite often was, how beautiful her Mother was and her heart swelled with pride; most of her friends' mothers were dowdy, plain and plump, but not hers. 

Marisa Delamere was the perfect concoction of beauty and brains, with dark hair that fell around her shoulders in soft curls and a figure that most women her age would kill for (some who had), Carina always found herself counting her blessings that her Mother happened to be Marisa Delamere, rather than Mrs Spennings, Alicia’s Mother. “How was your day at school?”

Now there was a question for the ages, Carina winced slightly, the image of her horrid day at school swimming in her mind. Having a beautiful Mother was one thing, but having the absence of a Father was a whole other being of its own and sometimes, less often than it used to be but still annoyingly frequently, the other girls felt that it was Carina’s place to remind her that she was a ‘bastard’ love child, who didn’t even know who her own Father was.

But, now was not the time or the place to bring up such insignificant details, especially to her Mother, who Carina was sure would have the children in question hung and their parents quartered.

If only she was joking.

“Great.” She lied, although not so easily as her Mother would have done. Thankfully, Marisa seemed absorbed in what was to come and spared no thought to her hastily put together lie.

“Brilliant.” Her Mother breathed and Carina became faintly aware that something was wrong; her Mother seemed nervous. Her Mother was never nervous, she was the opposite of nervous, she ate nerves for breakfast. Carina’s heart quickened slightly as her fingertips found the center of her palms.

“Is everything okay, Mama?” She said slowly, sinking into the chair opposite Marisa, who looked up to face her daughter, eyes wide slightly.

“Yes, well, quite..” She started, fumbling slightly over her nerves. “Promise you won’t be mad, my love?”

Carina frowned, curious and yet half-unwilling to find out what her Mother was on about. “Mad about-”

“Camp.” Her Mother interrupted and Carina felt the very air leave her lungs; she knew exactly where this was heading. 

“No!” She gasped, her cheeks paling, as she felt all life sources drain out of her body. She was going to faint, she was sure of it. In reality, she might have admitted that she was being a touch dramatic but, in the moment, this felt like a life or death situation. Again, she’d take the latter.

“I’m sorry, Carina.” Marisa sighed, as her daughter’s stare became a hardened glare. “I told you I’d try and find someone but I couldn’t, I really couldn’t.” She tilted her head and looked at her daughter with worry. “But please, let’s not fight, I’d hate to ruin our last few days together.” She reached across the table to take her daughter’s hands, yet Carina pulled hastily away, folding her arms as if she couldn’t bear to be within her Mother’s presence.

“You promised.” Carina spat, all faint feelings disappearing and being replaced with harsh anger. “You promised that you’d find someone! But you lied! Like you always do!”

“Don’t be that way, Carina!” Her Mother implored, her own anger threatening to bubble to the surface. “It’s not fair, you’d know I’d rather be with you than going to Europe with a bunch of snotty old Scholars.”

“So, don’t go!” Carina was on her feet now, pacing up and down. Anger and the control of her anger had never been her strong point. She was the opposite of her Mother in that way. She’d watched her Mother lie and control her emotions, two things she could never quite master. It quite often made her wonder if her non-existent Father was like this. 

“You know, I very well can’t do that.” Her Mother replied coolly, leaning back in her seat. “But darling, think of the positives-”

“There are none.” Carina snapped back, refusing to settle until her fight was won. “I’ll stay anywhere, with anyone but I will NOT go to Camp.” She paused with her pacing for a moment, thinking. “I could stay with Grand-mere?”

Marisa slammed the pen, she was holding in her hand on to the table. “Absolutely NOT.” She said dangerously, leaning across the table. “You will not stay with that woman, am I clear?” She barked, her anger bursting through for a mere moment. 

Carina swallowed, shrinking away from her Mother slightly. She loved her Mama dearly, but on the rare occasion that her anger got the better of her, her Mother could be a truly scary sight.

Marisa sighed and stood back, assessing her daughter from head to toe. “I’m sorry, Carina.” She sighed once more, exhausted after a day of work and not wishing a full door-slamming fight with her daughter. “You’re going to Camp and that’s the end of it.”

Carina looked at her Mother in disbelief for a moment, practically shaking with rage as she let out a scream of annoyance. “I hate you!” She shrieked, before flying from the room, careful to ensure that she slammed the door, leaving a deafening bang behind her.

Marisa Delamere sighed, sinking back into her seat and massaging her temples, dreading the pile of paperwork that remained sat on her desk, unshrinking, but perhaps dreading more, the thought of dinner with an angry Carina.


	2. Trouble? Don't Know Her.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Carina forgives Maria, Lyra proves she's no crybaby and Thorold disapproves.

A week and a half later, the drive to the Zepplin station was a frosty one and even Marisa, who was used to the cold airs of the North, was beginning to wonder whether she should ask the driver to crank up the heating, despite it being the beginning of perhaps the hottest summer the country had ever seen.

Carina sat, with her legs crossed, leaning as far as possible away from her Mother, who sat, unnaturally awkward, debating whether or not to make conversation. Marisa had assumed that, after Carina’s rather dramatic reaction to finding out she would be spending the next six weeks in a girl’s camp, her daughter’s anger would subsequently fade over the following days, eventually leaking into nothing more than a small, movable grudge.

She had been wrong. 

Carina had hardly uttered a single word to her Mother over the last ten days, except to ask her to pass the salt or butter, depending on the time of day. She’d remained holed up in her room for the entire first week of the summer holidays, using the fire escape to sneak out and meet friends, casually skipping meals and choosing to make Marisa seriously worried over her health. Carina wasn’t one for self-admiration, but she had to admit, her role as the defiant child had gone exceedingly well over the last couple of days.

Her anger HAD actually subsided, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to see her Mother pay for what she was doing to her. In many ways, Carina and Marisa differed, but their sickening love of revenge was one quality they shared, completely.

So, they continued their journey in pitiful silence, punctuated occasionally by her Mother’s small sighs, which only served to irritate Carina even further. She picked at a hole in her tights, feeling her Mother’s eyes watching her intensely and a small smile formed on her lips as she questioned the amount of control her Mother must have been exerting to stop herself from scolding Carina.  
On arriving, Carina slowly clambered out of the car, intent on making her Mother’s punishment last for as long as possible, yet knowing deep down that she’d eventually give in, her own emotions threatening to bubble through and destroy everything she’d worked so hard to prove over the last couple of days.

“Would you like me to walk you over to the boarding station?” Her Mother asked quietly, as she watched Carina get out of the car, pulling her suitcase along with her.

“I think I can manage one suitcase by myself, Mother.” Carina muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes and sighing as she struggled with the overpacked suitcase. Whoever said you only needed two bathing suits for Camp was deluded. Yet, she didn't complain as Marisa elegantly swept herself out of the car, telling the driver to park up and wait, appearing by her side as they walked over to the ticket station.

“I’m going to miss you,” Marisa started a little awkwardly and Carina felt slightly unsettled when she realised her Mother was uncomfortably nervous. The guilt that came with revenge was starting to become a little overpowering, and Carina began to wish she’d stopped after she’d had her main course. “I’ll miss you waking me up in the morning with your clarinet practice and I’ll miss eating icecream with you, because ice cream is never as nice when you eat it by yourself.”

Her Mother paused for a moment as they carried on walking, yet Carina stayed silent. “I’ll miss wiping your chocolatl moustache off your face and I’ll miss you crawling into my bed when you have a nightmare.” She continued, even as they began to reach the ticket station, where non-travellers could go no further. “But most of all, oh darling-” Carina’s heart began to ache as she realised her Mother was tearing up, and not the type of tears she used when she wanted something from powerful people, the type of tears that came when they watched Titanic together. ”-I’ll miss you and I being together, our own little team.”

Carina sighed as they reached the front of the que and the ticket officer held out his hand for her ticket. She passed it over before turning to her Mother, a polite smile reaching her face as she held out a polite hand, poised in a polite position, saying, incredibly politely, “Thank you Mother, for your kind words. I hope your trip to Europe is safe and successful.” 

Turning on her heel and leaving her Mother close to speechless, she crossed the line onto the platform, searching on the board for her the number of the Zepplin she was supposed to take, as an uncomfortable sickly feeling reached her stomach, working it’s way slowly up to her chest.

Suppose her Mother was in a car crash on the way home and she really thought Carina didn’t care about her? Or suppose that Mother’s plan was lost over the Atlantic, crashing down into the depths of the sea, killing the navigation system, with no survivors and the last touch the two of them had shared was a shake of the hand? Or suppose, worse still, that her Mother had an accident whilst in Europe and lost her memory and couldn’t remember anything about her own daughter, meaning Carina was sent to live with Grand-mere and Uncle Marcel, who would without a doubt revel in his sister’s mental demise until-

She was running now, back the way she had came, past the yelling security guards, hopping over the barrier and flying towards her Mother, who was walking back the way she came, elegantly poised despite her own daughter’s rebuttal.

“MOTHER!” Carina called, at the top of her lungs, not caring for how undignified she looked at that exact moment. “MOTHER! STOP!”

Marisa turned around, confused and slightly worried as she saw her dark haired daughter race towards her, crashing into her stomach, tears rolling down her face.

“Mama,” Carina started, unable to stop the tears now that they had started, uncaring that she was behaving like a complete and utter baby for the entire world, for at that moment the Zepplin station seemed like the entire world, to see. “Mother, I’m sorry for ignoring you these last few days-” She sniffed, finally regaining control of her emotions. “I’m going to miss you so much!”

Marisa bent down slightly, careful not to brush her skirt against the grass, lest it left a stain, so that she was level with her daughter to push her tears away. 

“Shhh, darling.” She consoled her daughter, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her daughter’s ear. Carina sniffled, but stopped crying, finding herself fairly embarrassed at her sudden outburst. “It’s only for the summer, I promise.” Carina nodded slowly, a small smile appearing on her face as if to prove to her Mother that she was strong enough to handle their parting. Marisa continued. “When you get back, we’ll do plenty of things, just the two of us- How does that sound sweetie?”

Carina beamed then, wrapping her arms once more around her Mother as Marisa straightened up, also becoming acutely aware that they were in public. A whistle blew from behind them and Carina jumped, picking up her bag once more.

“Bye!” She yelled as she ran backwards, trying to remain as graceful as possible as her Mother watched her with a fond smile on her face. “I’ll write to you every day!” She called as she gave an apologetic grin to the stern faced ticketmaster, who reluctantly let her through once more.

Marisa chuckled to herself. “No you won’t.” She smiled, sighing to herself in a sad contented sort of way as she caught a last glimpse of her daughter boarding the aircraft, before turning on her heel and making her way back towards the waiting car.

There was work to be done, work that would hopefully take her mind of the dull empty ache, that was missing Carina.

*********************************************************  
“I’m not going to cry.” Lyra said with the bluntness that only children are able to muster, looking up at her Father square in the eye. It was true, she wasn’t a fan of crying; it only demonstrated to your peers and companions that you had the depth to be vulnerable. What would her loyal subjects at Jordan think of her if she was to break down in tears? 

Not that any of them were watching, they were protected by the tall walls that circled Belacqua Manor. But still, the townies were becoming bolder and bolder these days and she wouldn’t have put it past one of them to have scaled the wall, in hope of watching the fierce Lyra Belacqua break down in tears over her own departure.

She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

“Good.” Her Father stated, just as bluntly, because although children have the capability and permission to respond in blunt fashions, men over a certain age also seem to have a certain tendency for it and, since they rarely bother to ask permission for anything, it seems to happen on a regular occurence. “I wouldn’t have expected you to cry. You’re eleven, not five.”

Lyra gave a stout nod of her head. That solved it. There were to be no waterworks on her end and she hadn’t really bothered to worry about fountains from her Father’s. She glanced around with narrowed eyes as if to say, pack up and go home townies, you’re not getting what you came looking for.

Her Father coughed. For a pair who had become so accustomed to ‘Goodbyes’ (Her Father went away at least twice a year), they weren’t very good at it; or at least, not now that Lyra was the one leaving.

“Got everything?” He said, slightly awkwardly and Lyra gave a big nod, feeling slightly awkward herself. 

“Yep.” She told him, gesturing to the large duffel bag waiting on the floor for her. “I hope there’s enough air in that bag, though. I’ve packed a whole jar of spiders and it would be a shame if they died before I got to Camp.”

Her Father laughed openly, the awkwardness beginning to disintegrate. “What the hell would you need spiders for?” He asked her, grinning wickedly, the skin around his eyes wrinkling just as hers always did. Lyra opened her mouth to respond but he put his hand up quickly. “Don’t tell me actually.” He told her. “I’d probably feel the need to stop you, since that seems like the responsible thing to do. Something tells me the plans for that jar are too humourous to be stopped.”  
Lyra’s face broke into a wide grin to match her Father’s as she suddenly felt the horrible feeling that she usually got, just before she said goodbye to her Father; the realisation that she was going to miss him.

They fought like cats and dogs plenty, that was true, but when it boiled down to it, Lyra would be forced to admit that life was better when he was there, rather than absent. They had a funny way of working, of inhabiting the same space, but they had seemed to function, perfectly fine for the last eleven years.

It’s not that she didn’t love her Father, because she did, terribly, it was more the fact that the two of them had been slightly awkward when it came to the declaration of that love. For example, their ‘I-love-you’ was founded not so much in words as it was an evening fishing by the lake or her Father remembering to order mint chocolate ice cream rather than just plain chocolate, because he knew that was her favourite.

But instead of letting herself get bogged down with the emotional part of things she merely nodded wildly. “Let’s just say I don’t envy the kid who gets on the wrong side of me this summer.” She said coyly, refusing to say little more, for fear of her Father’s responsible side kicking in and putting an end to her dastardly schemes.

“The car’s all ready, Miss.” Thorold appeared at their side, signalling to the car, poised in position to take her. 

“Thank you.” Lyra said quietly, all thoughts of evil scheming leaving her brain as she stared desperately at her shoes. She didn’t like tears, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t threaten the surface once or twice a year. She sniffed quietly, willing them away and reached a hand up to her Father, which he took, giving it a shake.

“Goodbye Father.” She said with a fierce face that she hoped exuded bravery to any watching townie, picturing herself a soldier, being sent off to war. “Have fun in the North and try not to freeze to death.”

Asriel shook her hand as though he was a colonel congratulating a man with a medal. “Goodbye Lyra.” He said, mirroring her tone of voice exactly. “Have fun at Camp and try not to induce the other children into a nervous breakdown.”

Her lips twitched with the promise of a smile as she turned her back on him, hopping into the car and opening a window, for the sun was already high in the sky and the car was dark and stuff and made her question how she was to last for another four hours in it. As the car was pulling away she had a quick thought, one that couldn’t wait to be posted and so she leant herself out of the window, watching the shrinking shape of her solid Father and yelled, “And make sure you bring me back a present!” She yelled, at the top of her lungs, not even thinking about attempting to look dignified. “I want an icicle that hasn’t melted.”

Ask for the impossible, was her motto in life, or at least her motto when it came for asking for things. Ask for the impossible and then what you really want, won’t seem so grand.

*********************************************************  
The Zepplin landed at exactly two o’ clock sharp and Carina, hot and sweaty in the summer’s heat (a heat which apparently couldn’t be reversed by the air conditioning on board), was the first passenger to break free, stumbling onto the boarding station and considering flinging herself onto the ground, just to make sure it was solid and real.

She’d changed into the designated Camp Walden uniform, despite her reluctance to even consider the thought of uniform in summertime, especially that belonging to some dirty camp in the Lake District. The assigned workwear consisted of a dark green polo shirt that was around two sizes too big for her with the Camp crest emblazoned in the top right hand corner in a hideous shade of yellow and an oversized pair of beige khaki shorts. 

It became entirely obvious to her in that moment that the uniform was not something that her Mother had been aware of and she could only begin to imagine the horror that would grace her Mother’s face if she found her only daughter wearing said uniform. The thought gave her small comic relief and, as she had to remind herself, it was better than being sent to Finishing School for the summer, where, she’d heard from fellow classmates, the young ladies had to wear corsets, even in the summer heat.

She shuddered at the thought. Camp Walden clothes might have been ugly, but they sounded about a million times better than the thought of wearing corsets and pouring tea all day.

The Zepplin landing station was overcrowded by young children around her own age, coming in from various different aircrafts themselves, some chattering away to friends old or new and others, like herself, standing, seemingly bewildered at the unfolding chaos.

She moved to the side, shyly, as the porter handed her her suitcase and small beaded bag, which she slung over her shoulder, now quite unaware of what to do with herself. Whilst her Mother was confident and at ease in a crowd, Carina found herself to be quite the opposite, usually choosing to stay away from loud groups of people, watching her Mother’s own parties from the preferable side lines.

Now, she wished for a small inch of her Mother’s confidence, wanting desperately to walk right into the crowd, befriend some other kid and ask for help and advice about where to go. Instead, she chose to stay still, fiddling nervously with the name tag on her case and wishing desperately that someone would take charge.

The charge, it seemed, came sooner rather than later as a great voice boomed out into the crowds, “All those looking for Camp Walden, over here!” and she turned to see a young-looking dark haired lady, wearing a similar uniform to her, speaking into a megaphone and, thankfully, holding a sign that said ‘Camp Walden’.

She released the breath she didn’t know she had been holding in and started to make towards the woman, who was now attracting a small crowd of children, as though she was a nectar pot left in a swarm of bees. As she got closer, she could hear the woman in question, shouting orders to the crowd.

“My name is Serafina and I’m the Head Counselor at Camp Walden,” She spoke with ease and confidence, demonstrating a clear sense that she had done this before and, as Carina got closer, she saw that the woman was slightly older than she had first realised. “I’d like everyone to make an orderly line as we all make our way over and onto the Camp Bus-” she gestured to an old-looking vehicle, which appeared as though it was on its last legs. Carina fought the urge to roll her eyes, breaking down in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of strangers was so not on her summer bucket-list.

Still, as if propelled by Serafina’s very words herself she found herself joining the neat line which was forming, falling into step with the other kids as they hurried towards the bus, all eager to get to the Camp itself.

Despite her previously negatively charged thoughts about the Camp, Carina had now slowly begun to admit to herself that she was excited to arrive, or at least, see it in the flesh. Her Mother had given her a couple of leaflets, but, due to her belief that she’d manage to wrestle with her Mother’s intentions and ultimately get herself out of summer camp, she’d hardly looked at them save a few momentary glances.

“Nervous?” She jumped slightly as the short, dark haired girl sat beside her broke into her thoughts, bringing her back the overcrowded, stuffy bus. She tucked a hair behind her ear, trying her best to appear dignified.

“Hardly.” She sniffed, barely glancing at the girl for a moment longer than seeing the abundance of freckles and dark rimmed glasses framing her face. She almost added a ‘I don’t intend to be here too long’, but thought against it, realising that making enemies or appearing aloof could potentially create troublesome enemies.

But the girl with glasses either did not recognise her stench of superiority or chose to ignore it instead sticking out a hand and saying, “I’m Mary. Mary Malone.”

Carina turned to her slightly, allowing herself to get a better look of Mary’s face. She was slightly older than she, perhaps by a year or so, and carried a wise, yet inquisitive look about her. She was neither pretty or ugly, her chest carrying a crucifix which Carina knew her Mother would approve of. In fact, she imagined her Mother’s own words would be a ‘suitable friend’ and ‘neither here nor there’.  
She grasped Mary’s slightly perspired hand and gave it a quick shake, smiling back at her. “I’m Carina, Carina Delamere.” Deciding to be honest with her new-found friend, she shrugged slightly. “And I am nervous, just a little.” 

Mary shook her head encouragingly. “That’s normal! My first summer here, I was a snotty mess, crying for my parents, even though it took them weeks of convincing to change their minds and send me to Walden, rather than Christ Camp.” She giggled slightly, as if imagining something absurd. “They seem to have the impression that I’m going to choose a career as a Sister.”

Carina said nothing, content to let Mary talk, rather than have to share her own personal details. She’d rather not think about home at the present time, not whilst she could still smell her Mother’s perfume lingering on her skin.

“I’ll take care of you!” Mary was saying, happily, seeming just as content as Carina to be the one to speak. “Trust me, after a week you’ll be one of us!’

*********************************************************  
“This is it, Miss Lyra.”

The car pulled down a seperate drive, off the main road, following directions to Camp Walden and Lyra craned her neck to see, preparing herself from the worst. In the weeks that had followed after her Father had given her the bad news that was summer camp, she’d actually begun to come to terms with the idea of six weeks away from Oxford, especially after seeing pictures of the place. It seemed exactly the type of place that allowed mischief to be managed, which, unsurprisingly, was exactly the type of place Lyra enjoyed.

Still, pictures could be just as untruthful as she could be, Lyra knew this all to well.

The path gave way to a few rocky turns and, as they rounded their third left hand turn, she saw the great sign that said ‘Camp Walden’. 

She didn’t usually get nervous, in fact, she would argue that she never got nervous, but the small part of her that her Father called a conscience would explain that this was in fact a lie and at times, such as this she did get nervous.

There were kids everywhere, some older, some younger, some tall, some short and Lyra pressed her nose to her window, deciding which ones she’d be able to beat in a fight if it came down to it and which one’s she’d choose to stay clear of, just in case she took it easy on them and they ended up managing to somehow beat her.

The car slowed to a halt and Thorold slipped out, opening the door for her as she slid on to the uneven, dirty ground of Camp Walden. Thorold went to get her bags from behind her, but she stood in front of him quickly, not wishing to appear spoiled to the other kids. She knew from past experiences that it was better to make friends, rather than create enemies. In that way, she was the complete opposite of her Father, who seemed to make enemies habitually, as though he’d rather have enemies than friends.

“I’ve got it, Thorold.” She said hastily, scooping up her own duffle bag and giving him a quick smile, to prove she could handle it. He held up his hands and stepped back.

“I hope you’ll be happy here, Miss Lyra.” He told her, eyeing their surroundings with a seemingly distasteful expression, which only further convinced Lyra that she would manage to fit right in. 

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll be just fine.” She grinned, thinking of the jar of spiders just a couple of inches below the thick material of the duffle bag. “Camp Walden, won’t know what’s hit em.”

“Right.” Thorold replied, eyebrow raised, frown seemingly frozen on his face. “Well I’m to tell you that there is no trouble to be had.”

“Trouble?” Lyra sang sweetly, widening her eyes in an attempt to convey her best ‘good girl’ expression. “Don’t know her.”

“I’ll believe.” Thorold gave a tight lipped smile, thoroughly unconvinced, as a first hand witness to many of Lyra’s biggest and messiest crimes. Fishing in his pocket a moment, he produced a small, square shaped box and held it out for her. “From your Father.”

“A deck of cards!” Lyra said triumphantly, snatching them off him, with a wide smile on her face. Father had taught her how to play a good game of cards the moment she could think for herself and Card Nights were not a rare occasion in the Belacqua household. “I’m gonna whip all the butts in this sorry little Camp.” She declared, stuffing them in his pocket.

“Well if that’s all…” Thorold was evidently looking for a dismissal. Perhaps he even wanted a goodbye hug...? No, judging by the expression on his face he was merely looking for a quick way out of the place that was quickly becoming the epitome of Hell.

“Ciou, Thorold.” Lyra waved, lazily, hurrying off in the direction of the moving crowd, hardly looking over her soldier. “See you at the end of Summer!”

The moving throng led her over to the baggage collection area, where the kids who had bussed or flown in, were currently collecting their items. Seeing as she had her own bag, Lyra was ready to just move on and find her bunk-and the perfect place for her spider jar. But, just as she went to move, she spotted something of interest, a tall, gangly boy, struggling to get his rucksack which, from the looks of things, was right at the bottom of the pile.  
It wasn’t that the boy in question appeared weak, Lyra noticed that, despite his skinny frame, he looked like he’d be quick and agile in a fight, he just lacked the wrong technique. Lyra knew this from years of sneaking into the kitchen and managing to pull the exact snack she wanted out from the bottom of the pile of others, not nearly as delicious snacks.

With a sigh, she walked over. “You need a hand?” She questioned, trying her best to look sincere rather than mocking. “You’re pulling at all wrong.”

“Oh yeah?” The boy said hotly, frowning at her. “You think you could do any better?”

Without saying a word, Lyra pushed up her sleeves and gripped the handle of the rucksack. With one single tug, it was out on the ground, at the boy’s feet.

The boy, in question, looked at Lyra sheepishly, a colour coming to his cheeks. “Oh.” He murmured. “Sorry.”

Lyra wiped a small bead of sweat off the top of her forehead and brushed her hands on her shorts. “No problem.” She grinned, holding out her hand, which he took with his own, equally warm one. “I’m Lyra, by the way.”

“Will.” The boy grinned back, all anger or frustration melting away before her eyes. They fell into step on their way to the accommodations board. 

“So Will you play poker?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help but throw Serafina and a de-aged Mary Malone in! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Xo


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